


Or Are You Just Happy to See Me

by AgentStannerShipper



Series: Boys and Their Toys [1]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bottom!Harry, Clothing Kink, Competency Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, Gunplay, Light Bondage, M/M, Weapons Kink, discussions of kinks and safewords
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 05:31:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13000881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Merlin and Harry explore a new kink.Or; extremely fluffy gunplay, because this fandom needs a lot more of that.





	Or Are You Just Happy to See Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



> I do not pretend to be a creative titler.  
> I've been playing around with the idea of writing gunplay for a while, so thank you for this lovely opportunity to finally do it. Hope it's more or less what you wanted.  
> Not betaed or Brit-picked, so let me know if there are any issues.

“You want me to do what?”

Harry shifts from foot to foot, suddenly self-conscious, “Never mind, darling. Forget I said anything.”

Merlin sets the gun down on his lab bench. “Not bloody likely,” he says. He folds his arms and raises an eyebrow, “So, let’s try this again. You want me to do what?”

Harry studies the floor. Slowly, as if Merlin were prying the information out of him with a skilled hand and a set of plyers rather than a look, Harry repeats, “I want you to fuck me with that.”

“With a gun.”

“Please don’t make me keep saying it.” He feels like he’s going to be sick. He and Merlin have been together for nearly a decade now. They’ve done some experimenting in the bedroom, but they’ve also mostly fallen into a routine. This is decidedly _not_ routine.

“Jesus Christ, stop looking like that,” Merlin sighs. He scoots back his chair and pats his lap, and Harry melts into him, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s neck and burying his face against his shoulder. Merlin strokes his hair soothingly, “I’m not upset with you for suggesting it.”

“But you think it’s weird.”

“I think it’s unconventional,” Merlin corrects. “Knowing you, I shouldn’t be surprised. If ‘late’ wasn’t your middle name, ‘unconventional’ would be.”

Harry smiles slightly into Merlin’s neck. His partner’s fingernails scratch at his scalp, sending delightful tingles down his spine. “Do you really want me to forget about this exchange?” Merlin asks. “Or would you like to discuss it tonight in the privacy of our home?”

Merlin isn’t saying no, Harry’s mind registers gleefully. Merlin is suggesting they discuss it, and that means he has at least some interest in the scenario. “We could talk about it tonight,” Harry says softly.

Merlin presses a kiss to his temple, “Alright. But now, I do need to get some work done. Tristan keeps complaining that the firing mechanism keeps jamming on this model.”

“That’s why I use the Rainmaker, and the pistols,” Harry says, sliding off Merlin’s lap. “Much better for combat.”

“That, and apparently they don’t give you a hard-on.”

Harry blushes, and Merlin lifts his eyebrow again, but he says, “Tonight. Now shoo.” He makes a little handwavy gesture towards the door.

Harry blows him a kiss and gets lost.

He’s on edge for the rest of the day, unable to concentrate on finishing his post-mission reports with the lingering thought of ‘tonight’ hanging over him. He gives it up as a lost cause after a few hours of staring at the same blank page, and leaves the shop altogether at five o’clock.

Merlin isn’t home when he gets there, but that’s not entirely unexpected. Merlin is less nine-to-five and more five-to-nine. The man gets up ungodly early and comes home later than Harry would like, when he comes home at all. The price of being good at his job means that Merlin needs to be onsite the vast majority of the time.

Harry busies himself with cooking dinner in the meantime. Merlin adores Harry’s cooking, and buttering him up a bit before this conversation can’t hurt. Every creak of the house makes Harry jump, wondering if Merlin is about to come through the door and call it off, laugh in Harry’s face and call him disgusting.

By the time dinner is on the table and the door actually opens, Harry is a mess of nerves. Merlin must read it on his face and body, because he cups Harry’s chin and pulls him in for a kiss before he’s even taken his shoes off. “Something smells amazing. Did you cook?”

Harry shrugs. His entire body feels ready to vibrate apart. “You like it when I cook. I made your favourite.”

The look Merlin gives him tells Harry that Merlin knows exactly what Harry’s doing. He kisses Harry again and then moves past him into the dining room. Harry follows him and starts to pour them both a glass of wine with shaking hands before Merlin takes it away and finishes the job for him, which leaves Harry to sit down and fidget. The wine is a signal that they both understand; no matter what they agree on, nothing will actually be happening tonight. As Harry said, they have experimented in the past, and they never do so if they’ve been drinking. This is Merlin’s rule, not Harry’s, but it’s a good rule nonetheless.

Merlin’s voice is gentle when he says, “Do you want to talk about this now, or would you like to wait until after dinner?”

As much as Harry wants to get it out of the way and over with, if they talk about it now he’s not going to be able to eat a bite. And he doesn’t like to discuss things with Merlin like this. He’d rather be curled up on the sofa with his partner than staring at him anxiously across the dinner table. “After,” he says.

Merlin nods and picks up his fork. Between bites, he says, “Did I tell you about my new project?”

Harry shakes his head, and Merlin launches into a story about some design ideas he’s had for pocket squares. “There’s a lot of applications,” he says. “You could put a tracker in the lining, you lot always need more trackers on you, I don’t know how you manage to lose them all the time. Or you could lace it with a drug like chloroform that would only active when wet, or manipulate the fabric to change colour if you dip it into a drugged liquid. Although what I’m really interested in is weaponizing them. There’s a technique of making cards or fans with razor edges that I’m looking into, and if I’m very good I might even be able to make it retractable.”

“You could always just find a way to make it blow up,” Harry suggests with a grin.

“I’ve made you enough things that blow up,” Merlin teases back. Harry knows exactly what tactic Merlin is using on him; he’s distracting Harry to relax him, and he’s very grateful for it.

Eventually, they get to the point where dinner really is over, and they can’t linger in the dining room any longer. Merlin stands, and just like that the bottom of Harry’s stomach falls out. He suddenly regrets eating. “Living room?” Merlin suggests, and Harry nods.

They settle on the sofa together. Harry isn’t quite draped across Merlin’s lap, but it’s a near thing. Merlin has his fingers in Harry’s hair again, like he’s stroking a dog to calm him down. “You’re very tense,” he says.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Still, Harry melts into the pressure on his scalp.

“No.” Merlin has never been ashamed of what he wants in bed, or at least not with Harry. But Merlin has also never suggested something like this before. His voice is gentle when he says, “Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you want?”

Harry bites his lip. “I don’t know. Not…not exactly.”

“Okay. Can you explain it to me?”

Harry considers, trying to parse out what exactly about the scenario had him blurting out the first thing that had come to his mind. “I’m not sure it’s the gun itself,” he says slowly. “It’s more…well, you don’t usually handle weaponry, at least not when I’m around, but you’re very good at it.”

“Okay…”

Harry shifts slightly. “It’s…dangerous,” he says.

Merlin grins. This, at least, is familiar territory.

Harry continues, “The idea of you with a weapon in your hands…that you could hurt me but you’re choosing not to…”

“Alright. We can work with that.” Merlin pauses, and then his voice is more clinical when he asks, “Did you want to do this as a roleplay scenario?”

“Maybe. Um…yes.”

“What sort? Are you resisting me?”

Harry shakes his head. There’s enough of a grey area with that in their line of work that he doesn’t want to bring it into the bedroom. “Maybe…” he hesitates, “Maybe we’re on opposite sides…and you’ve captured me…and you’re not threatening me, but you need to make me talk or something…” He trails off, blushing.

“You want to pretend to be spies?”

“It was just a thought.”

Merlin tilts his head, considering. “Would you like to be tied up?”

“Maybe initially, but not the whole time.”

“Alright. Our names, or codenames?”

“Our names.”

“And you actually want the gun to be involved.”

“Please.”

“When you say you want me to fuck you with it, what does that entail? Do you just want me to have you suck it off? Or do you actually want me to put it up your arse?”

“…both?”

“What model? Because I’m not doing that with an assault rifle.”

“My pistol?”

“Yours specifically?”

“Yes.”

“Barrel or handle?”

“Barrel.”

“Safety on or off?”

“Um…”

“Keep in mind, it won’t be loaded.”

“Off, then.”

“You’re going to need prep. How do you want to handle that?”

“Beforehand.”

“So you want to go into this wearing a plug to keep you open?”

“Yes.”

“Do you actually want to come?”

“Yes. Ideally with the gun inside me.”

“What about me?”

“What about you?”

“Am I allowed to get off?”

“I don’t see why not.”

“How?”

“Shall I draw you a diagram?” Merlin gives him a look, and Harry drops the cheek. “Up to you.”

“Okay,” Merlin nods. “Safewords?”

“Yellow if I want to pause the scene, red if I want to stop altogether.”

“Good boy,” Merlin praises, and Harry shivers, because Merlin knows what those words do to him. Merlin kisses his temple. “We’ll need to hammer out a few of the details, but I think we can absolutely make this work.”

***

Merlin finishes securing the ties around Harry’s wrists. They’re twisted behind his back, but it’s incredibly tame compared to some of the knots Merlin has put Harry in. His ankles aren’t even tied, and it would take him next to no effort if he wanted to slip the knot. The bondage isn’t the point here, just a way to enhance the scenario.

They aren’t at home. They’d gone back and forth on that, whether it was better to do this at the house, the complex, or a hotel. Hotel had ultimately won out, so they’re in the bedroom of a suite with a do-not-disturb sign on the door. It’s unfamiliar, but safe. Merlin’s job is to keep Harry safe, both as his handler and as his partner, and Merlin is very good at his job.

Merlin stands up. “Feel good?”

Harry wriggles against the bonds, “Perfect.”

“Good. Safewords?”

“Yellow if I want to pause the scene, red if I want to stop.”

“If your mouth is full?”

“I pull off and then safeword.” Merlin will let him. Even when he gets a hand in Harry’s hair he never pulls on it, never uses it to keep him in place.

“Good,” Merlin repeats. He cups Harry’s chin and presses a sweet kiss to his lips. “Is there anything else you need?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Alright,” Merlin says. “I’m going to go into the next room. Relax, and I’ll be back soon.” Harry nods obediently, and Merlin turns and leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him.

Watching Merlin leave is always a treat, but especially because he’s dressed up for this, in a full bespoke suit, and the trousers cling to the curve of his arse just right. It’s Harry’s request, a last-minute addition, because he looks more properly a spy like this than in his jumpers, and he looks damn good.

There’s a buzzing tension under Harry’s skin. It’s been there for hours, since Merlin had cornered him at work in his office, spread Harry out on the desk, and fingered him until he was begging for something more. More had been the plug currently inside him rather than Merlin’s cock, but Harry can’t really complain because he had asked for it. When he shifts, he can feel the plug jostling, glancing against his prostate occasionally, and it doesn’t help the electric feeling keeping him on edge.

He takes a deep breath. Relax. He can do that.

As if this were a proper interrogation, Merlin has removed all the clocks from the room, so it could be minutes or hours before the doorknob turns again. Merlin steps into the room, all smooth confidence, and says, “Well, well, well. We meet again, Mr. Hart.”

It’s so stereotypically Bond-villainesque that a part of Harry wants to laugh. But that part is buried in the back of his mind, drowned out by a low, empty hum. Instead, he says, “I’d shake your hand, Merlin, but as you can see, I’m a little tied up at the moment.”

It’s cheesy banter, but it’s familiar, and it relaxes Harry further as Merlin approaches. “I can see that,” Merlin murmurs. He curls a hand around the back of Harry’s chair so he’s looming over him. Merlin places a flat hand on Harry’s chest, and runs it slowly down, stopping just above the waistband of Harry’s trousers. Harry shivers and fights the urge to spread his legs.

Merlin’s hand moves up again, then under the suit jacket to where Harry keeps his holster. He slides the pistol free and clicks his tongue as if he’s disappointed. “And what exactly, did you think you were going to do with this?” he says, holding the gun up. He frees the magazine, checking that it’s empty, and does the same with the chamber of the weapon before sliding them back together with a click. Harry licks his lips and swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and Merlin’s eyes flick over to him. A smile curls at the edge of his mouth, “ _Oh_. I see. It’s not what you wanted to do with it, but what you wanted _me_ to do to _you_. Naughty boy.”

 _That_ does things to Harry, and if he was half-hard watching Merlin handle the gun, he’s fully erect now, his cock straining against his trousers uncomfortably. Merlin chuckles, the low pitch shooting straight through Harry. “So much about you makes sense now, Mr. Hart. The fancy suit,” he runs a finger up Harry’s tie and taps where it’s knotted at his throat. “The way you keep chasing after me. You want to talk, don’t you? You want to impress me.”

Harry nods. “Please.”

“ _Such_ a good boy,” Merlin murmurs. He shifts his grip on the gun, holding it aloft like he’s considering it. He takes a step forward, and he’s centimetres away from Harry. He taps the muzzle of the gun against Harry’s cheek. “How about a little kiss hello?”

Deliberately, Harry ignores the obvious cue and leans forward, pressing his lips against the bulge of Merlin’s crotch, feeling his partner’s growing hardness through the tight-fitting trousers. Merlin laughs and nudges him back with the gun, “Not me.” When he taps the muzzle against Harry’s face this time, it’s directly at his lips.

Harry makes eye contact with Merlin as he presses a kiss to the muzzle of the gun, flicking his tongue out as if to chase after it when Merlin pulls it away. Merlin adjusts his grip and flicks the safety off, and it shouldn’t mean anything to Harry because he _knows_ the gun is empty, but apparently his cock doesn’t because it throbs painfully in his trousers, a little bolt of fear skating down his spine because Merlin’s finger is resting against the trigger guard and if it slips…

But it’s not going to, because Merlin is adept at handling a weapon, and that’s an even bigger turn-on. Harry spreads his knees, trying to coax Merlin to come back, and he obliges, shifting closer and putting the gun back against his lips. Harry goes to kiss it again, but Merlin lifts it away. “Open your mouth,” he says.

Harry does, and Merlin slides the muzzle in. It’s thick enough to make his jaw ache, but Merlin only pushes about half the barrel in before he draws it back again. Harry chases it, and Merlin threads his fingers through his hair. He doesn’t grip, but Harry stills anyway, looking pleadingly up at Merlin.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” Merlin says. “I could untie you, and you wouldn’t go anywhere, would you? You’d go straight to your knees and show me just how good you are.”

Harry nods, and Merlin reaches around him, pulling the knot free and stepping back so Harry can slide out of the chair to the ground. He grips the backs of Merlin’s thighs, but otherwise stays still, waiting.

Merlin cups his chin, running his thumb along Harry’s jawline before pressing it into a spot that has Harry’s mouth opening reflexively. “I won’t keep teasing you,” he promises, levelling the gun with Harry’s lips. “Go on. Show me that you can be a good boy.”

Harry lunges forward, wrapping his lips around the barrel of the gun and taking it as far down his throat as he can, until his lips bump against the trigger guard and Merlin’s fingers. He licks out at them, and then pulls off slowly, running his tongue down the length of the weapon. He bobs his head, using the same rhythm he would if it were Merlin’s cock in his mouth, and he knows Merlin can tell, his partner biting back a groan and using his free hand to adjust his trousers.

Harry’s fairly confident that Merlin is going to have bruises on the backs of his thighs tomorrow in the shape of Harry’s fingerprints, but the other option is letting go and freeing his aching cock, and Harry doesn’t want to do that. He wants to be good for Merlin. He pulls off the gun with a pop and licks and kisses up and down the side, running his tongue along the underside and then pressing the entire length down his throat so that even the tips of Merlin’s fingers are inside his mouth.

Merlin yanks the gun away and hauls Harry up by his tie, and when they kiss it’s violent, teeth clashing messily as Merlin licks into Harry’s mouth, tasting the metal on his tongue. Abruptly, he pushes Harry backwards and to the side, kicking the chair away and shoving until Harry’s knees hit the bed and he goes down on his back. Harry struggles to get back upright, back to kissing Merlin, but his partner presses the gun into his chest hard enough to hurt just a bit. “I’m going to strip you out of these lovely clothes,” Merlin tells him. “Then, you’re going to be a good boy and spread your legs so I can fuck you with this.” He taps the gun against Harry’s chest and then goes right back to pressing it into the muscle. He pauses, “Check in?”

“Green,” Harry tells him. So very, _very_ green.

Merlin nods and nudges Harry up the bed, straddling his thighs. He places the gun gently next to him, and then wraps his clever fingers around Harry’s tie, unknotting it with little effort and sliding it out from Harry’s collar. The jacket goes next, Harry arching off the bed as Merlin peels him out of it. He takes his time with the waistcoat and holster, undoing the buttons and buckles with patience when Harry really wouldn’t mind the fabric being ripped off him.

The buttons on his shirt are even worse. Merlin presses kisses down his chest as he undoes each one, sucking vicious bruises into the skin and rucking it up out of his trousers without so much as touching the place where Harry’s cock is straining against them. Harry can’t help the whine that escapes his throat when Merlin takes the time to unbutton his cuffs instead of just pulling the shirt off, and Merlin shushes him. “I’d hate to see such a nice suit get ruined.”

He apparently is not affording his own suit the same courtesy, because he’s still completely dressed even as he finishes stripping Harry to the waist. He leans over Harry, who arches his hips up hopefully, wondering if he can get even a little bit of friction, but Merlin picks up the gun and sits back. That half-smile graces his lips again, but Harry barely has time to frown in confusion before Merlin tilts the gun sideways and grinds it against his cock through the trousers, and Harry lets out a startled moan, trying to thrust against it. He can’t, not with Merlin sitting on his legs, but Merlin lets him enjoy a few more rough strokes before pausing to flick open the button on his trousers, barely bothering with the zipper before shuffling back and all but tearing them off, along with Harry’s pants. He uses the gun to nudge Harry’s thighs apart, spreading them wide so he can move between them.

The silky slide of Merlin’s trousers against Harry’s bare legs makes him shiver, and Merlin rests the gun against his instep before trailing it up his calf and over his thigh, pausing when he gets to the crease of Harry’s hip. Harry reaches up with both hands and gets a solid grip on the pillow to keep from grabbing Merlin’s wrists and directing his hands precisely where he wants them.

And then Merlin shifts the gun, sliding it right up behind Harry’s balls and digging in, setting off firecrackers behind Harry’s eyes as he tilts it so the barrel is pressed along his length. He humps the air with the little leverage he has, trying to grind against the weapon and whining when it doesn’t work, only succeeding in pushing the muzzle harder against him.

Merlin’s voice is thick with arousal and rough with disbelief when he whispers, “Christ, this really does it for you, doesn’t it?”

Harry is beyond words to respond, letting out a soft keen and letting the desperate rocks of his body convey his point.

Merlin uses his free hand to stroke Harry’s cheek briefly, and then he braces himself on the bed, sliding the gun down until it hits the base of the plug and Harry shudders.

“Every time I think you can’t get any more perfect,” Merlin whispers. He adjusts, and then he’s pulling out the plug, Harry’s body fighting him, trying to suck it back inside, keep him full. “Relax,” Merlin coos. “It’ll be so much better in a moment.”

Harry doesn’t manage to relax, not really, but Merlin gets the plug free anyway, the silicon making an obscene noise as it passes Harry’s rim, lube starting to dribble out. Merlin places the muzzle of the gun against his pucker, the cold metal sending shocks along Harry’s skin. “Check in,” Merlin says.

“Green, get it the fuck inside me, please.”

Merlin laughs, and then Harry arches off the bed and cries out because Merlin applies pressure and the muzzle breaches the ring, thicker than the plug and even more unyielding, sliding in easily with the assistance of the lube, and Merlin was right, it is _so much better_. Merlin pins Harry’s hips down with one large hand, hot where it’s spread out on his hip in sharp contrast to the cold metal inside him and Harry thinks his brain is going to short circuit. His fingers hurt from clutching the pillow so tightly.

Merlin eases the barrel in another centimetre and then rocks it out again, starting a slow rhythm, changing the angle ever so slightly on each thrust in until it presses right up against Harry’s prostate and he sobs, “ _Fuck_.”

“Look at you,” Merlin breathes. His pupils are blown wide, and he takes his hand off Harry, who would protest if his brain wasn’t offline at the moment, and grips himself through his trousers, tilting his head back and groaning. “You’re fucking gorgeous,” he tells Harry. “All spread out and desperate, letting me shove a fucking gun up your arse and loving every second.” The next thrust is harder, and Harry chokes and does his best to push back against it. “You’re a fucking gift,” Merlin says. He gives himself one more squeeze and then leans over Harry again, fisting his cock loosely, and even that much friction feels almost like too much. “I could pull the trigger right now, and you wouldn’t even care, would you?”

“You won’t,” Harry manages. Merlin twists the gun slightly inside him the next time he pushes it in, and Harry chokes back another sob as his cock throbs in Merlin’s fist.

“No, I won’t,” Merlin says. “But I could. And that turns you on, the idea that I could hurt you, but I won’t. Because I’m in complete control, and you’re being such a good boy for me.” The hand stroking Harry’s cock moves a bit faster, grips a bit tighter, pushing Harry towards his climax.

Without thinking, Harry says, “Do it.”

“What?”

“Pull the trigger.” It’s _safe_. Merlin is good, he’s so very good at his job, at this, at everything, and it’s safe and Harry suddenly really wants Merlin to do this for him.

Merlin’s breath catches, and Harry feels his hand hesitate where it’s pressed against his thigh, gun still buried inside him, and for one split second Harry thinks Merlin isn’t going to do it. And then, on the next stroke of his hand on Harry’s cock, he twists his wrist and pairs it with squeezing the trigger, and as the hammer falls with an audible sound Harry goes off, coming across Merlin’s hand and painting white streaks up his suit jacket and waistcoat where he’s leaning over Harry.

Merlin gently eases the gun free as Harry sinks back into the mattress, suddenly boneless. He sets it to the side and wipes his hand on his trousers, either oblivious or uncaring of the fact that he’s going to stain them with Harry’s come. Then he cups Harry’s face, stroking his thumb over his cheek, “You alright?”

“I’m fucking _fantastic_ ,” Harry exhales. He turns his head and presses a gentle kiss to Merlin’s thumb. “That was exactly what I wanted, darling.”

“You threw me a bit at the end there.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was pretty hot.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Merlin leans down to kiss him, and whispers against his lips, “I would definitely not be against doing this again.” He glances down at himself, as if registering for the first time the mess Harry has made of his suit, “Maybe not quite so dressed up though. I’d hate to explain to the dry cleaners what this is.”

“I highly doubt they’ll ask,” Harry says. He finds his limbs again and reverses their positions, flipping Merlin easily onto his back and stretching out comfortably on top of him. “But, since it’ll have to be cleaned anyway, what do you say we get it a bit dirtier first?” He flips open the button on Merlin’s trousers, and then cups his straining cock, smirking down at his partner.

Merlin grins back at him, arching up into his hand slightly. “I’m open to suggestions.”

Harry slides his hand inside Merlin’s trousers at the same time he leans down to give him a truly filthy kiss.


End file.
